


loving her (it was all red)

by rebelliousenjolras



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Ginny is the only one with any sense, Implied Relationships, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Mutual Pining, Wedding, kind of angst, kind of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:43:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelliousenjolras/pseuds/rebelliousenjolras
Summary: Her dress was red. A girl, a wedding, a moment, a memory.Fred and Hermione share a dance at Bill and Fleur's wedding.





	loving her (it was all red)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fic that's been in my head for a while now. Please leave a kudos and comment if you enjoy! x  
(Title vaguely inspired from "Red" by Taylor Swift)

Her dress was red. It matched her temper, fiery and lashing, burning him down to his bones when he was able to get a rise out of her. It spoke to her warmth, a deep, flickering flame, and those damn eyes, able to pierce his soul through just the whisper of a gaze. It told of their futures, and the bloody battlefields they were soon to meet, the sheer absence of time he had left to make her understand what it was that her and that red dress did to him. 

Because somewhere along the line, he’d fallen in love with Hermione Granger. Fred wasn’t sure if the thought elated or terrified him. She was supposed to be his total opposite; she had been the antithesis to everything he held dear in his schooldays. And yet… His lips, seemingly of their own accord, twitched into a smile when she berated him for some act of nonsense or another… His heart, completely against his wishes, thudded painfully whenever she graced him with one of her rare peals of laughter… His knees, embarrassingly, went weak when their hands brushed just that very day as she’d passed him a floral arrangement for one of the tables in the massive tent.

The very tent that Hermione was now spinning wildly around in, on the arm of Viktor Krum, head thrown back as a peal of laughter escaped her lips. Fred didn’t miss the victorious grin on Krum’s face, and wished--not for the first time that night--he was the one twirling Hermione across the dance floor. 

“You’re never going to get her just by staring daggers through her,” a voice commented to his left, causing Fred to splash his glass of champagne down the front of his dress robes. 

Cursing, and slightly damp, Fred turned to see Ginny smiling unashamedly at him. She held a glass of champagne of her own--something their mum surely hadn’t noticed yet--and her smile seemed just a tad thin. 

“Speak for yourself,” Fred mumbled irritably, gesturing pointedly at where “Cousin Barny” sat, fiddling with a bit of cloth torn from a napkin. “What’s going on with you and Harry, anyway?” 

Ginny drank deeply from her glass, rolling her eyes over the rim. “What’s ‘going on’ is none of your concern, Fred. We’re talking about you and Hermione.”

Fred crossed his arms stubbornly. “Not so fast, little sister. You talk, and then I might just consider telling you a dark secret or two.”

“Fine, you bloody wanker,” Ginny sighed loudly, tipping back the rest of her champagne before plopping the glass down on the table. “I love him. Obviously. But just as obvious is the fact that he, Ron, and Hermione have a limited number of days here before they set off to do Merlin knows what and risk being killed. And I’m furious because I want him to be safe, but I’m just as proud of him. And I can’t tell him any of this, and he’ll never guess, because Harry’s about as aware as a brick wall, and the last thing I want is for him to be distracted by me. There. Does that suffice?” 

Ginny said all of this very quickly, so much so that Fred was left reeling a full minute after she finished speaking. It took him several more to find words to match his sister’s frank confession. His gaze drifted once more to Hermione, who now revolved in a slow circle with Krum, swaying to the solemn ballad drifting through the night air. 

“I… I suppose I might be in love with Hermione,” and those words took his breath away, because he hadn’t said them, much less to another person, out loud before. Again, Fred was left searching for words. “And it’s like you said-- they’ll be gone soon, and Hermione doesn’t need some dim-witted declaration of love hanging over her head when she’s trying to keep herself and those other two alive. And speaking of, Ron’s mad for her too, and as much as he’s a tosser, he’s still my brother. So, it’s a dark little secret, and I’ll spend the rest of my bloody life trying not to tell her the truth.”

Ginny considered this for a moment, fingers, drumming against the tabletop. Then, she unceremoniously plucked Fred’s glass from his hands, drained its contents, and smiled a true smile. “Then don’t tell her. It’s really quite simple, isn’t it? Dance with her, and that will be enough for now.”

And then Ginny was gone in a flash of golden skirts, marching determinedly in the direction of Harry, seemingly about to take her own advice. As the song ended, Fred found himself rising to his feet, spying Hermione standing, blessedly alone, at a far table, fingers tracing over one of the vibrant red roses in a centerpiece. 

Fred cleared his throat when she didn’t notice his arrival. Hermione’s head snapped up, a blush creeping across her cheeks, and smiled distractedly. It seemed her mirth had been short-lived and entirely Krum related. 

Banishing the bitter thought from his mind, Fred held out a hand, willing it not to shake as he offered Hermione what he hoped was a winning smile. “Care to dance, Granger? Not to brag, but Auntie Muriel has told me I’m quite the partner.”

He succeeded in drawing a laugh from her. Hermione accepted his hand, leading him to a corner of the dance floor near the white walls of the tent. The song was a simple piece, all strings and piano, and Hermione’s arms wound around Fred’s neck, his settling onto her waist, in a way that felt far more familiar than it should have. 

“If you step on even one of my toes, I’ll call your Auntie Muriel a liar. I expect to be nothing less than utterly dazzled,” Hermione warned teasingly, settling her fingers in the tangle of hair at the nape of Fred’s neck. Though her grin was genuine, her eyes were far away, planning and calculating things Fred would never be able to understand. 

Fred twirled her suddenly, and Hermione let out a little shriek when he dipped her so low her curls--tamed and sleek, much like they’d been at the Yule Ball so many years ago--brushed against the gleaming dance floor. When they righted, he was pleased to see that he’d almost succeeded in bringing her back down to earth. Almost, but not quite. 

“I daresay you’ve been appropriately dazzled, Granger,” Fred twirled her once more, and waited until she was back with her arms around his neck before continuing. “And now, you owe me something in return.”

Hermione raised a brow, expression warring between curiosity and disapproval, the line she almost constantly seemed to be toeing around him and George. She seemed to settle on curiosity, though, saying, “And what is that, Fred?”

“What’s got you trapped amongst the clouds?” Fred asked gently, lifting one hand from her waist to raise her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

Hermione blinked, taken aback, before her features slid into what Fred assumed she thought to be a bland, expressionless smile. However, Hermione had never been able to hide her emotions well-- fear, worry, and something he couldn’t quite place flashed across her face in quick succession.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hermione said, and that feeble brush-off lasted for mere seconds before she tried again. “I mean, I’m perfectly present. Have I not responded to everything you’ve said?”

Fred had to laugh as her natural inner scholar appeared, always eager to know if she’d passed a test. His hand, still resting beneath her chin, moved to cup her cheek. He was pleased to see yet another blush pinkening her face, sending a rush of heat through his bones. 

“That you have, ‘Mione, but even I can tell you’re a hundred miles away. You’re… It’s not tonight, is it?” Fred asked tentatively.

Hermione didn’t have to ask him what he meant. All pretenses forgotten, Hermione sighed, and much to Fred’s surprise, turned her face into his hand. “No, it’s not tonight. But soon. The wedding was the last thing we had to be here for.”

Fred’s heart leapt into his throat. He’d known, of course, that the trio wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts. Still, he’d hoped--foolishly, wistfully hoped--that he’d have just a little bit more time with Hermione to sort his own heart out before they jumped headfirst into the war. Just a few more weeks of summertime sunshine, pretending like they were safe and their world wasn’t fracturing. 

He cleared his throat and prayed for his voice to come out steady. “Oh. Right, then. I should’ve guessed it, from the way you lot have been skulking about lately, but--”

Fred cut himself off abruptly, having been mere seconds away from telling Hermione everything. He remembered what Ginny had said, about Harry being too oblivious to realize how she felt, and he knew Hermione wouldn’t be so easily fooled. 

Sure enough, Hermione’s brow furrowed as she tried to work out what Fred had stopped himself from saying. “I know, it seems foolish to leave like this, but we really haven’t any other choice. There’s no way we could go back to Hogwarts now, with Dumbledore gone. I know it’s maddening that we won’t tell you anything, but you have to believe me when I say this is how it has to be. We’re all safer this way.” 

Hermione sighed deeply, shoulders slumping as exhaustion seemed to weigh down her slender frame. It was only then that Fred truly noticed what her striking features and fiery dress had been covering up-- the dark circles imprinted beneath her eyes, the way her bottom lip was chapped from hours spent worrying it, her ragged nail beds and chipped polish. And, Fred realized, the weight of his own confessions would do nothing but cause her to sink beneath the dancefloor, into the dirt below. 

So instead, Fred forced a smile and dipped Hermione dangerously low, bringing his face so close to hers he could count each individual freckle that dotted her cheeks. She sucked in a surprised little breath, that unreadable expression back on her face. 

“Miss Granger, I do believe I promised you a dazzling dance, and seeing as our time together is to be short,” Fred twirled her again, pulling her to his chest as he held both of her hands in his own. “I plan to make it count.”

And as the song drew to a close, Fred found his gaze dropping again and again to Hermione’s lips. It was she, though, who moved closer, lips parting as her head began to tilt-- and then a Weird Sisters song was blasting through the tent, and boisterous laughter from the group watching George and Charlie doing an aggressive sort of tango in the middle of the floor shattered the moment. 

“Do you suppose I could keep you for one more dance?” Hermione said lightly, not relinquishing her grip on Fred. He couldn’t say that he minded. 

“What’ll your admirer think?” Fred quipped, rolling his eyes to the corner where Krum sat, disinterestedly watching the crowded floor of dancers, gaze flickering back to Hermione every few minutes. 

Hermione, to Fred’s surprise, simply waved a hand and laughed. “Oh, Viktor and I are just old friends. I’m sure he’ll survive without me. Besides, like you said, we don’t have very long left.”

Ego sufficiently stroked, Fred led Hermione into a mad sort of waltz, fast-paced to match the music, though he refused to let her move more than an inch away from him. He wasn’t sure what to call it, this odd little moment in time, where the girl in the fiery dress and the boy with the flaming hair finally saw eye-to-eye, but just as he’d told Hermione, he intended to make every second of it count. 

Somehow, two songs turned into four, then six, and it was an hour later and Hermione and Fred hadn’t stopped dancing for anything besides sneaking more sips of champagne. Fred found himself captivated by the girl, hanging on to every word she said and counting each individual smile she graced him with as a personal triumph. 

The music had shifted once more into a slow piece, and this time it was Hermione who laid her head against Fred’s chest, humming quietly. Fred hoped she couldn’t hear just how fast his heart was racing.

“It’s a shame, you know, we couldn’t put aside our differences sooner,” Fred teased, aiming to distract himself from the flowery scent of Hermione’s hair and the way her body seemed to fit perfectly against his. “We make quite the partnership. Imagine the showing we could’ve made at the Yule Ball.”

Hermione peeked up at him through her lashes. Her breath was warm against his neck as she spoke. “I would’ve gone with you. Had you asked, that is.” Fred’s expression must have been one of confusion, because Hermione continued, clarifying, “I wasn’t so put off by your antics that I didn’t fall prey to the Weasley charm, you know.”

It was Fred’s turn to flush now, a bright red that crept up his neck and across his cheeks in a most undignified way. Hermione had closed her eyes, though, face turned against his neck. It was a small mercy, Fred decided. 

“I would’ve asked you, too,” Fred said, emboldened by Hermione’s confession. He hovered dangerously on the edge of a cliff, down the ravine before him a truth that he could never unsay. He backed away regretfully, staying on firm ground, burying himself in humor and wit. “I’d figured Ronniekins had already staked a claim on you. Imagine my disappointment when I realized you’d bagged a Quidditch celebrity!”

Hermione swatted his chest lightly. “Oh, hush. We went as friends. Besides, you still could’ve asked me. It took Viktor ages to work up the courage to.”

Fred played with the curled ends of Hermione’s hair, working his way back up to the cliff’s edge. It wouldn’t hurt, he decided, to toe the line between danger and safety, on this final night with her. “You were the prettiest girl at the ball, Hermione. In the entire castle.”

Hermione stilled, her feet tripping slightly over their next step, though she hadn’t faltered once in their previous hour of dancing. For a moment, Fred feared he’d accidentally thrown himself headfirst off the cliff. 

But then, Hermione sighed, sending goosebumps up and down Fred’s body. He felt her smile against his neck. “You weren’t too bad yourself. Still aren’t, in fact.” Hermione lifted her head, eyes suddenly urgent and open, and for a fleeting moment Fred thought that unreadable expression of hers was the very same one he was sure was projected across his own face. “Fred, I feel like I need to tell you. I--”

A great white light momentarily blinded the pair as a silvery creature flew past them to the center of the dancefloor. For a wild moment, Fred thought it was a practical joke, a party guest who’d had a little too much to drink showing off in front of everyone.

“The Ministry has fallen. The Minister for Magic is dead. They are coming.” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s unmistakable voice boomed from the mouth of the lSarahx, causing the entire wedding party to fall silent. 

Hermione’s hands gripped the front of Fred’s dress robes tightly, and his own fell protectively around her waist, pulling her so that she was flush against his side. The silence pervaded for only a moment longer before chaos broke loose. Fred frantically scanned the floor for George, Ginny, his parents-- they were all huddled together with Bill and Fleur. And there were Harry and Ron, the former’s disguise having been lifted, fighting their way across the floor to them-- to Hermione. 

Realizing they had only seconds left, Fred gripped Hermione even tighter. “Hermione, listen to me. Look out for yourself. I--” he faltered, and the cliff seemed miles away now. “Just promise me you’ll stay alive, won’t you? Promise me.”

Hermione’s hands fell to her sides, and Fred felt cold all over. “You know I can’t promise that, Fred,” she said, a sad little smile on her lips. She seemed to be steeling herself, and before Fred could react, she pressed her lips against his own. The kiss was desperate and fleeting and fierce, and for a split second, Fred felt as though he was falling down the cliff fast. 

When Hermione drew away, her eyes were hard. Determined. He’d dropped to the bottom of the ravine. “Make it count, Fred.”

He caught one last glimpse of red, a dress and a girl and a moment he loved so dearly, before she was gone. And as he joined the battle raging before him, Fred began the long climb back up to the cliff face. 


End file.
